Sense of Evil - Kay Hooper [112]
Rafe muttered a curse under his breath and increased the Jeep's speed. He didn't say anything else until they reached the informal rest area and pulled off the highway. Ignoring the questions called out to him by several members of the media still braving the hot day hoping for a photo or a news bite, he headed toward the clearing, relaxing visibly when he saw Isabel and Hollis.
“The phone call?” Isabel asked as the two cops reached the agents.
“No joy,” Mallory reported. “Pay phone.”
“And there won't be prints,” Isabel said with a sigh. “He's using gloves. Not latex, I think, which is odd.”
“What do you mean?” Rafe asked.
“Well, latex gloves leave you with a much more tactile sense of what you're touching, you know that. And since they're form-fitting, they don't get in the way.”
“No, I mean how do you know he isn't using latex gloves? We haven't found a sign either way at any of the crime scenes.”
“I touched them,” Isabel said slowly, surprised that she only now remembered that.
“Excuse me?” Mallory's voice was very polite.
Isabel realized she was being stared at, and shook her head. “Sorry. I forgot none of you had seen it here. Or even knew, I guess. I wonder why I forgot that part?”
“What part?” Rafe asked with visible patience.
“I told you that sometimes, rarely, my abilities manifest themselves physically in a vision. During one of those, I am the victim. I feel what he or she feels, and I usually come out of it covered in blood. Blood that fades away completely after a few minutes.”
“I'd call that creepy,” Mallory said.
“Yeah, it's not much fun.” Isabel shrugged. “Anyway, what really brought me to Hastings is that I had a vision while Tricia Kane was being killed. I felt what she felt. And when he drove that knife into her chest for the last time before she died, her hands reached up to touch the knife—and touched his hands. He was wearing gloves. Not latex gloves, but thick leather gloves, like working gloves. His hands were big, or at least that was the sense I got.”
“And you're just now telling us this?”
“I'm just now remembering.” Isabel frowned. “I guess the voices crowded it out. Maybe that's one in the plus column for your shield.”
Thunder rumbled just then, and they all glanced upward at the threatening sky.
Half under her breath, Hollis muttered, “Oh, God, I hate storms.”
“We're about to have our crime scene washed away,” Rafe noted. “Weather's calling for heavy rain today and tonight, with and without thunderstorms.”
Isabel hesitated, looking at him. “I've tried,” she said. “I've tried all morning to pick up something, and I can't. I can't break through the shield.”
“Stop trying to break through it.” He held out a hand to her. “Work with me, not against me.”
“Rafe—”
“We don't have the luxury of time, not that we ever did. We can't afford to wait any longer. Like it or not, this is it.”
“Should we leave?” Hollis asked, indicating herself and Mallory.
“No,” Isabel said, then hesitated, recalling what had happened with Paige, and added, “But you might want to step back a little bit.”
Both women did, watching the other two warily.
Slowly, Isabel reached out her own hand and felt the spark, felt his fingers closing around hers.
“I wish we had more time,” Rafe told her. “I wish we had the luxury of dinners and movies, and hours of talking to each other about what matters to us. But the truth is, we don't have that time. We need every possible tool we can get our hands on—or our minds wrapped around—and we need it now.”
“Yes. I know.”
“You're next on his list. You know that too.”
Isabel hesitated again, then nodded.
“Paige said we'd have to work together. That it would take both of us to figure out how to use this shield.”
“Yes.” Isabel looked at their hands for a moment, suddenly realizing something. “You're right-handed; I'm left-handed.” Those